


wicked game

by verbose_vespertine



Series: electric feel [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Guilt, Masturbation, Pining, Power Dynamics, Shameless Smut, Smut, exploring master/apprentice dynamics, jedi are space catholics and you can't change my mind, partially resolved sexual tension, who am i kidding the ust just gets worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23726968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbose_vespertine/pseuds/verbose_vespertine
Summary: Jaesa is incredibly conflicted about the way Mena makes her feel--surely she can't really want to feel this way?Incredibly self-indulgent, smutty follow up to "trying to survive inside your arms"
Relationships: Female Sith Warrior/Jaesa Willsaam, Sith Warrior/Jaesa Willsaam
Series: electric feel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719985
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	wicked game

Night on the _Bashara_. Or maybe not night, but the ship has entered it’s automated night cycle, with the recirculated air turned a few degrees cooler and all of the lights dimmed. Jaesa lies in her bunk in the crew quarters, staring up at the faint lines of the ceiling she can make out in the dark, listening to Lieutenant Pierce’s quiet snoring from the other end of the room. Occasionally, Vette’s mattress above her creaks as she shifts in her sleep. The last bunk is still unoccupied, Captain Quinn having not yet retired for the night.

She isn’t sure what time it is, and it doesn’t feel worth the effort to find her chrono to check. Hours after the short training session with Mena, Jaesa can still feel her hand tingling from the lightning Mena had cast through her fingers, can still feel Mena’s nails dragging across her palm. She runs her thumb in a circle over her palm and a shiver races through her, not entirely unlike the jolt she had felt after Mena first released the small burst of lightning into her hand. Not from the shock, from something else, and Mena had felt it too—hadn’t she?

Tossing her head back into the pillow in frustration, Jaesa bites her lip. She’d been restless, tightly wound, all day, and unable to even meditate. Every time she tried, if she let her mind unfocus and drift, she found Mena. Mena, whose presence in the Force was so _loud_ without trying. It would be easy to reach for her, to read her intentions—for Jaesa to see if what she thought she felt from Mena was really there—but Jaesa refused. Mena was her Master now, or as good as. To do so would be an abuse of her abilities, a breach of their trust.

Oh, but _stars_ , did she want to know. And more than that, to be under Mena’s hands again, to be an instrument, a conduit, an outlet for whatever power Mena would give her. Without her awareness or conscious consent, Jaesa’s hands slip between the covers. When one hand rucks up the edge of her nightshirt to graze across her stomach and up to trace the curve of her breast, she is surprised enough at herself that she gnaws her bitten lip to keep a soft groan in her throat where it belongs, rather than allowing it out into the reality of the room.

 _I should stop. This is wrong,_ she thinks as her fingers twist and tweak one of her nipples. But she doesn’t tell her hands to stop; Jaesa silently allows them to continue their treachery. Remembering the scrape of Mena’s claw-like nails along her arm, it is easy to imagine them digging lines into her more sensitive skin as Jaesa pinches herself until both nipples stand firm at attention, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself quiet. She wishes distantly that she had had an excuse to touch the ridges along Mena’s ribs, to know what they would feel like against her hands.

A sound from above, Vette mumbling in her sleep, jars her into awareness of what she is doing, the baseness of it, and Jaesa’s hands dart out from under her covers. She squeezes her eyes shut in annoyance at the _need_ building inside of her, trying to chase it away. Rolling to face the wall and pressing her hands against her face, Jaesa chastises herself, _I don’t_ need _this. I don’t even_ want _this. I just need to sleep_.

But her body, having gotten the barest taste of what it wants from her, will not let her rest. As quietly as possible, Jaesa swings her legs out of her bunk and pads out of the room on bare feet. She doesn’t dare breathe or even look up crossing the open main cabin of the ship, heading for the cargo hold, careful not to disturb Toovee on her way.

Closing the door to the cargo hold behind her, the room falls into near-total darkness, lit only by dim emergency lights along one wall. Jaesa walks carefully to the back corner, where a thin mat is still spread on the floor from her last attempt at meditation. Lowering herself onto her knees on the mat, she sighs in resignation; she may not be able to relax her mind enough to meditate, but at least it’s quiet and private here. None of her usual meditations will even come to mind, so instead she tries to just make her mind blank.

But _here_ is where Mena had tangled herself around Jaesa, invading her senses, and with her eyes closed Jaesa can feel Mena’s hands on her again, can smell Mena’s hair, can hear her soft, encouraging voice. Of its own mind, Jaesa’s hand slips back under her nightshirt, pressing flat against her stomach before sliding down into her pants, seeking center between her thighs. Her fingers find their mark, and she is embarrassingly, _distastefully_ wet. Sliding one finger into the folds and trembling at her own arousal, Jaesa hates herself that Mena’s name is on her tongue in a reverent, hungry whisper. _I don’t even want this. I just want to sleep_ , she reminds herself.

 _Just get this over with_ , she thinks. _Get this out of my system. Here it will be uncomfortable and wrong and bad, and I won’t want to do it again. Right_? Jaesa bargains with herself before slipping another finger inside. Her thumb finds her clit to trace small circles over, and the angle isn’t good, but the pressure is. Bracing herself against the floor with her free hand, her hips start to rock against her thrusting fingers.

No longer trying to bite back the soft keening sounds from her throat, Jaesa’s head tips back, her mouth falling open. With her hand still buzzing from the lightning Mena cast through her, Jaesa can almost imagine it’s Mena’s fingers questing inside her rather than her own. Ashamed by the thought, she feels a hot blush spread across her face and chest, but rolls her hips harder against her hand.

“ _Master_ , please,” Jaesa cries hoarsely, despising the need and desperation in her voice, but keeps on, adding a third finger, curling her hand to press with each thrust for the sweet spot that will send her over the edge. Mena had told Jaesa not to call her ‘Master,’ and once the word is out of her mouth it feels dirty and tainted, but so, so _right_.

With no more regard for a rhythm or pace of any kind, Jaesa thrusts her fingers into herself hard, rocking her hips to meet them, her thumb working frantically against her clit and her legs starting to shake from her kneeling position. When the wave of her orgasm hits her, Jaesa cries out Mena’s name again, falling forward to lean on her forearm, continuing to rock slowly through the aftershocks, aghast at how quickly she came undone just at the thought of _her_. As the waves subside and Jaesa slowly draws her fingers out from her throbbing cunt, she is struck with fear that she didn’t _say_ Mena’s name, but that she cried out to her in the Force. Resting her forehead on the floor, panting, and swallowing hard, Jaesa’s mouth is so dry, but she convinces herself she can still feel Mena’s name on her lips. She’s dirty and tired and stupid, but surely she’s not _that_ stupid.

After a long moment curled against herself on the floor, she pulls herself to her feet and staggers in the darkness to the sonic sink against the wall to clean up as best she can. Walking with her head down back to the crew’s quarters, Jaesa startles at the sound of the door to Mena’s private quarters opening. A figure, too tall to be Mena, exits the room into the main hold. Malavai Quinn, straightening the cuffs of his uniform jacket. They hold each other’s gaze uncomfortably for a moment before Quinn nods curtly and turns toward the bridge. Jaesa is left to stand dumbly in the middle of the main hold, her chest burning with an emotion she can’t bring herself to name.

Feeling a renewed prickling, Jaesa looks down to see faint purple-white crackles of energy sparking up from her fingers. Squeezing her hand into a tight fist and pressing it to her chest, Jaesa slinks back to the crew quarters and her bunk, not ready yet to think too long about finding her own lightning in her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (Jaesa and all other side characters belong to BioWare/EA/the Star Wars folks; Mena, though she's really only mentioned in this one rather than present, is all mine.)
> 
> Title is from the Gemma Hayes version of the song "Wicked Game." The lyrics are just too spot on for Jaesa in these moments.


End file.
